


Falling

by Amationary



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Suicide Attempt, This is trash, don't read my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 14:35:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amationary/pseuds/Amationary
Summary: Connor's not sure why Grace purchased him, but he's sure glad she did.A short one-shot that popped in my head and refused to leave until I wrote it down.





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on a big multi-chapter Connor/reader fic for about a month, so I wrote this as a sort of pallet cleanser? I'm not really sure what it is but I hope you enjoy?

He found her sitting by the window in a sleek looking armchair _far_ too fashionable to be comfortable. She, predictably, had a glass of whiskey in her hand with the half-full bottle sitting on a table next to her. He simply observed, for a moment.  
She looked like a 21st century goddess like this, with the twinkle of the cities’ artificial lights giving her silhouette a sort of ethereal glow, hair done up in an impeccable bun with artful curls framing her face. One hand swirling her drink, the other atop her knee, to the all the world she would appear to be the most well put-together person in the world.  
  
Connor knew better.  
  
Tossing the rest of her drink down in one gulp, she then looked at the glass as if it held the answers to the universe. Perhaps it did.  
“What am I doing, Connor?” Even though she wasn’t facing him and he had made sure to make little to no noise, he wasn’t surprised she knew he was standing there. She had always had a sixth sense about knowing his whereabouts.  
“You’re drinking again, despite the fact I have alerted you numerous times before that it’s an unhealthy habit.” Her head turned towards him, then, flashing him a small half smile that sent tingles down his artificial spine.  
  
“That’s what we do though, isn’t it? Create things that simultaneously bring joy and kill us slowly. You could say its humanities’ specialty.” Connor slowly made his way towards her chair, dropping to his knees next to it. A steady hand cupped her cheek, while his other took the glass from her, placing it just out of reach. She leaned into the contact, savoring it as if it could be ripped away at any moment.  
“I think you’ve had quite enough to drink.” Connor could barely process the spark of mischief that danced across her eyes before she bolted up, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and ran towards the hallway as if the devil himself was at her heels. Uncapping it, she began to take swigs directly from the bottle, not watching where she was going. Connor felt himself follow, not quite remembering giving the command but grateful his body was moving anyway. “Grace, you really should stop before-“  
  
When her foot slipped on the polished floor, he felt his thirium pump stutter. Reaching out, he grabbed for her hand and pulled, hoping to keep her upright. His hand connected with her shirt instead, and the miscalculation had him twisting, pulling her towards him at the wrong angle. They ended up on the floor, him on his back while she practically straddled his waist, bottle spinning out of reach. He could feel her breath on his face, hot and rushed as if she’d been running a marathon instead of a short sprint, faces so close that their noses were practically touching, yet he didn’t want to move away. Logically he knew he should apologise, help her up and take her to bed where she could sleep off the alcohol but he didn’t want to. He didn’t _want_ to. All he wanted to do was close the gap between them and… Connor blinked the thoughts away and instead studied her face. She looked star struck, as if she’d never seen light before and then stared directly at the sun. It made his insides feel warm, yet running a diagnostic showed no apparent errors.  
  
“What are _we_ doing, Connor?” She said it softly, as if any noise louder than a whisper would destroy whatever this was, this peaceful moment of uncertainty.  
“I’m not sure.” Her expression twisted at that, turning darker. “No, I think you do. I think you know exactly what’s happening, you just don’t know if you really want it.” She abruptly got up, and he found himself missing her warmth.  
“Grace, wait, I-“ Whirling around to face him, she looked fixedly at him, as if daring him to continue.  
“Go on, what were you going to say? That this is okay? Nothing about this is okay, Connor. You’re an android designed to be around me and do everything I say. For a second I looked at you and forgot that, I thought that maybe…” She was crying now, fat tears rolling down those freckled cheeks he loved so, so much. He stood oh so slowly, making sure she could see every movement clearly, disregarding his want, his _need_ to be by her side.  
  
“Come here, please.” His tone was soft, speaking as if to a wounded animal. He reached out a hand, inviting her to take it. She moved backwards, backpedaling into a wall all while shaking her head furiously.  
“No, no I can’t do that. I can’t take advantage of you like that. What kind of person would that make me?” He moved as close as he dared, yet she was still out of arms reach.  
“Please, Grace. Let me help you.” Connor waited for confirmation, a sign that it would be okay for him to move forward.  
“No.” Her voice was firm now, all uncertainty and warmth gone. “No, stay right there. Don’t you move any closer, don’t move a muscle.” Connor felt his body immediately lock up, unable to even continue its simulated breathing. Unable to so much as_ blink_.  
Absentmindedly running a hand through her hair, Grace groaned. “That’s not what I meant, you can move- no not closer -oh god, I’m too sober for this.” Bending down to scoop up the bottle of whiskey still on the floor, she gestured to the couch with her other arm. “Do you mind sitting down? No you know what, just sit down please.” Still sounding confident, she tried to hide how the hand holding the bottle was shaking like a leaf. He saw it anyway.  


Connor saw his body move more than he felt it, as if he was a mere viewer rather than a participant. He tried to keep his attention on Grace, even once she was out of view. “Just stay on the couch, okay? I’ll be back in a bit.” Free to move again -as long as he was _on the couch_\- he turned to watch her as she fumbled her way towards the balcony, opening the sliding door and sitting on the chair overlooking the city. It was one of her favourite places to think, he often found himself sitting with her out there, talking about nothing in particular and simply enjoying the breeze. Now all he could do was watch as she downed another shot of whiskey straight from the bottle, watch as she tried to muffle the sound of her sobs.  
  
_This was all his fault._  
  
He tried to go to her side once again despite knowing how futile it is, before he can even move he sees a red wall blocking his path with a flashing warning. So he settled in and tried to pretend he wasn’t blatantly staring at her while still having her in his vision, but by the way she glared his way he guessed he’s probably failing miserably.

Hours trickled by like this, with him trying to think of a way to fix the whole mess while she took the occasional shot, bottle nearly empty. He’s contemplating entering stand-by mode when she stood up on wobbly legs, heading towards the railing. All of his attention was on her as she poured the remaining alcohol out over the edge, as she leaned in as if to hear when it hit the ground. Of course they don’t hear it -they’re over two hundred meters off the ground- but he could calculate how long it would theoretically take and just as that amount of time passed -6.53 seconds- she moved back slightly, before hoisting her legs over the railing and sitting so close to the edge he’s sure a light breeze would send her toppling down into the abyss.

He strained against his programming again then, red wall appearing and once again blocking him from moving from the couch but he tried anyway, he had to _at least try_. “Grace, come back inside!” He didn’t even notice he’d yelled out until she’s turning her face towards him, fresh tears dripping off her chin even as she smiled at him, smiled and whispered something so quietly he can’t even hear them but he can still make out the words as she mouthed them.

_I’m sorry._

Then he saw her begin to move, as if to push herself off the edge and time _stopped_.  
He can see the red wall again, only this time he can also look back at his body and he’s somewhere in the middle, somewhere outside of time itself. Not having the time to ponder his position, he tried to move past the wall, to reach her side but he can’t, it held strong. Undeterred, he somehow knew what to do, knew that if he pushed hard enough it would come crumbling down. So he pushed and he pushed, he punched and kicked, full body slamming it over and over and over until he saw a single hairline crack. Then he focused all his attention on that crack, pooled all of his energy until it becomes larger and larger, until that small crack became a spiderweb of them cascading down the wall.  
With one final slam it s_mashed apart_ and he’s suddenly flying towards the railing, faster faster _faster_ but he’s not fast enough, can only grab her wrist as she falls.

“What are you doing, Connor?” Grace’s voice is panicked now, eyes wide as saucers as she stared up at him. Even when dangling hundreds of meters above the street, shoes slipping off her feet and tumbling below she didn’t look down, only up at him.  
He doesn’t answer, only grunting as he attempted to pull her back up to the balcony. Somehow he managed it, and she even helped by using her other hand to hoist her legs over the railing. The moment she’s back over he was pulling her into the building and rushed her over to the couch, gently nudging her to sit down. Even while she did so she continued to stare as if she’d never seen him before, as if he’d changed into some completely different being in the last few minutes."  
  
Maybe he had.

Connor stood awkwardly in front of her, shifting his weight from foot to foot, not knowing what to do. They just continued to stare at each other, neither party wanting to be the first to break the deafening silence. “I-“  
Before she can complete the sentence his lips are on hers, an action fueled by the desperation to communicate without words, to somehow convey all of his feelings into a single action. When he pulled back he looked into her eyes, searching for understanding, for a sign that she gets it. All he found was more tears. Just as he’s about to apologise she threw herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. This one was a lot softer and she’s still crying even when they part again, foreheads pressed together.  
“I love you.” It’s said in a breathless whisper that could have come from one or both of them, he’s not sure which but it doesn’t really matter, because they don’t need words to understand anymore, all they need is _this_, their bodies pressed together as they hold each other.

Connor’s not sure when she fell asleep, or when he carried her to the bedroom. All he knows is that he’s laying next to her, and he’s never leaving her side again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated! Did you enjoy? If not, why didn't you? Any feedback is good feedback, I can use your suggestions in the first actual multi-chapter fic I'm working on! Thanks in advance (if anyone reads this, anyway.)


End file.
